“I get it, Trey.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah, I do.” Awash with joy, with terror, with expectancy, he continued, “You’re telling me I need to be in this for the long haul. And whatever I do, make sure I don’t hurt Sarah, or Annabeth, or anyone else at Charity House. That about cover it?”
“I’d say we’re on the same page.”
“Good. And Trey...” Hunter carefully set the mug in his hand on the desk and let out a slow breath of air. “Thank you.”
Trey shrugged. “Happy to help.”
“I wasn’t referring to my current situation, though I certainly appreciate the advice.” Mostly. “I meant, thank you for what you did for me two years ago. You helped settle some things in my mind, including the matter of my salvation.”
“You came to your own conclusions.”
That might be true, but Trey had guided him toward those conclusions. He’d patiently explained the difference between godly justice and worldly justice. He’d explained the notion of giving mercy where it wasn’t deserved, as only a man who’d sought vengeance with his own hands could do. In that, they’d shared a common bond. Trey’s first wife had been brutally murdered by a man as evil as Cole Kincaid.
Trey had moved past his anger at God. An example Hunter wanted to follow but still wasn’t sure how. Not completely.
“I also came here today to return this.” He dipped his hand in one of the inner pockets of his coat and retrieved the small Bible Trey had lent him during the trial. The book was frayed at the spine, nearly falling apart in places.
“I see you spent some time in there.”
Hunter attempted an easy smile. “A bit.”
Giving him a long look, Trey took the Bible, flipped through a few pages at random, then offered it back to Hunter. “Keep it.”
Hunter didn’t overthink the suggestion. He simply accepted the offered gift with a single nod of his head.
They spoke a while longer, both settling into the conversation as they had years ago. The fact that this man regularly chewed up outlaws and spit them out like a used-up wad of tobacco wasn’t something Hunter tended to forget. Not while sitting in the man’s jailhouse.
But Trey was more than a tough, dedicated lawman. He was a family man, too, equally devoted to his wife and three children.
“Our daughter is fifteen now.” He shuddered. Trey Scott actually shuddered. “She was always a handful, even as a child, often one step away from open rebellion, but now she’s downright...difficult.”
Hunter remembered his own sisters at that age. Both had been...difficult, too. “I’m sure it’s just a phase.”
“A phase?” With a visible effort, Trey unclenched his jaw. “A man can certainly hope so.”
Hunter smiled at his friend’s obvious discomfort. Talk of Trey’s daughter brought his mind back to Sarah. Would she hit a phase, too? Would Hunter be ready for that eventuality? Would they navigate Sarah’s teenage years with ease, or awkwardness, or a combination of both?
Something remarkable and completely unexpected moved through him as he pondered the questions running through his mind. Anticipation. Followed immediately by dread.
Hunter’s heart nearly split open at the thought of parenting a female. What did he know about raising a girl? What did he know about parenting at all? His gut spun into a ball of sickening doom. He checked the clock above the door, noted the time and slowly rose to his feet.
He had some serious thinking to do before he made the trek to Charity House. “I should go.”
Trey followed him out of the building. “How long are you in town?”
As long as it takes to win over my daughter. “I haven’t decided.”
“Make it a point to stop back by. Coffee’s always on.”
“I’ll do my best.” He turned to leave.
Trey stopped him. “Hunter. God has given you a well-deserved second chance in life.” Trey clapped him on the back and smiled. “Pray for guidance in the coming days and the Lord will direct your path.”
Translation: keep his head on straight, his eyes on God and his priorities properly aligned.
With that in mind, he left for Charity House.
Chapter Five
By late afternoon, the wind had picked up, swirling cold air beneath Annabeth’s collar as she stood on the front porch. She hardly noticed the discomfort. She was too busy watching Hunter’s approach from halfway down the block.
Just looking at him did something strange to her insides. His walk was all his, a smooth, even gait with easy strides that ate up the ground with remarkable speed. He’d taken off his hat and now held it in his hand, swinging it loosely by his side. His hair was disheveled, as if he’d shoved his fingers through it more than once. Eyes dark with banked emotion added to the whole menacing gunslinger look.
Helpless against the pull of him, Annabeth sighed. Apparently, she had a thing for the whole menacing gunslinger look.
He’s not here for you. She told herself this, repeated it several times, but her heart still skipped a few unwelcome beats. And her head grew far too light for her peace of mind.
A clock from inside the house marked the hour. Four distinct chimes. She’d known he’d arrive on time. Hence the reason she’d taken up her post on the front porch of the orphanage.
Hunter hadn’t noticed her yet. He looked solemn and maybe a little nervous, his gaze darting around as if he was looking for trouble. Did that come from his former life on the run, that constant checking of his surroundings, even on the safest side of town?
For some reason, the thought made her sad. Every muscle in Hunter’s back and shoulders seemed tense. He raked a hand through his sand-colored hair and then opened the short wooden gate with a jerk.
He took a few more steps before his gaze caught hers. He stopped. A silent message filled his amber eyes, one she couldn’t quite decipher. There was a lot going on in the man’s head, and she wasn’t entirely sure all of it had to do with Sarah.
What was she supposed to do with that?
She forced a cheerful note in her voice. “Good afternoon, Hunter.”
He didn’t reply. Just nodded, once, abruptly, then traveled his intense gaze over her face once again. She shifted slightly under the bold perusal. When he still didn’t speak, she sought to still the beating of her heart.
There was no reason to be alarmed, she told herself. She’d had all day to prepare for this meeting.
Nevertheless...
She felt an odd pain in her heart, an ache that had nothing to do with the thought of losing Sarah and everything to do with this man.
Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord. Whether she was voicing a plea or a prayer, Annabeth wasn’t certain.
She was, however, convinced that standing out on the porch, staring at Hunter Mitchell like a lovesick cow was getting them nowhere.
“Come inside,” she said, pleasantness personified. “I have someone I wish for you to meet.”
* * *
Annabeth directed Hunter into the house and then down a darkened corridor. Shadows swirled around them as they walked, their footsteps filling the silence between them—hers light and graceful, his clipped and efficient. Despite the nature of this visit, the atmosphere in the quiet house was